The Muggle Cinnamon
by Mizaya
Summary: A yearlong argument about Muggle movies ends in Hermione taking Ron to see one, much to his dismay. A R x Hr story featuring humor, fluff, and awkward moments. COMPLETE.
1. A Blue Shirt

_Summary: A year-long argument about Muggle movies ends in Hermione taking Ron to see one, much to his dismay. Throw in one meddling mother, some strange concepts about Muggles, and a healthy dose of adolescent awkwardness, and what results is a very memorable day for Ron!_

_A/N: This is the first of 3 chapters and by far the shortest. I've been working on this fic for ages, and I'm really pleased with how it's turned out. I would love to hear feedback of any sort! For trivia's sake, I chose gardenias because they mean 'you're lovely' or 'secret love.' Enjoy!_

**The Muggle Cinnamon**

By: Mizaya

Chapter One: A Blue Shirt

A frequent argument between Ron and Hermione over the course of sixth year had been about Muggle films. It had started one cold Friday evening in October when the common room was uncharacteristically quiet and there was an unbelievable lapse in homework. Hermione had told her friends, who were well into their fifth game of chess, that if she was at home it would be a perfect night to see a film. Harry had agreed, although he said he wasn't able to go to the Muggle cinema while living with the Dursleys, only caught bits and pieces of things when Dudley watched television. Ron, however, had disagreed hotly, deciding that it seemed completely boring and useless to watch people act out made-up stories on a wall (which was what he had surmised once from a conversation with Dean Thomas).

In the subsequent months, Hermione had told Ron the plots of all her favorite films, the history of cinema, and the merits of watching flat people interact on a flat surface. Ron's retorts had consisted of "What rubbish!" and "Give it a rest, Hermione!" and "The WWN is way better than any Muggle cinnamon!" ("It's cine_ma_, Ron"). Hermione had lectured like a know-it-all and Ron had poked fun mercilessly. As with of their past disputes – _spew_, Viktor Krum, homework, Snape's intentions – this one had come up over and over until Harry lost his cool sometime in April and shouted at them to shut up about ruddy movies.

To Ron, it was all quite normal.

Even Hermione's promise at Platform 9 ¾ had amused him greatly. She said she would make Ron see a film with her over the summer to prove they were enjoyable. It had come with good-byes and a hug that had Ron fighting to keep his ears their regular shade of pale, but he had laughed and thrown her a witty remark about how he would go to the cinnamon the day she tried out for the Quidditch team.

That is, it was amusing until he received a letter one balmy day in July, a few weeks before they were set to collect Hermione and Harry and return to Grimmauld Place, where they would spend the rest of the summer.

Ron had sent Pig to Hermione because he was bored and lonely and Harry obviously wanted to be left alone. He wrote to her about his mountain of chores and the birthday present he'd bought for Harry, and included a small, angry tirade about how Ginny kept bringing up Dean (whom she was still seeing) to spark her brother's temper. In return, he'd expected a Hermione-ish letter, griping about how she wanted more homework, prematurely scolding him for not starting his own, describing in detail all the places she'd gone with her parents, and expressing her worries for Harry with all that had happened.

What he got made his eyes bulge.

_Dear Ron,_

_I'm glad you're doing well, even if you don't see it that way. The chores you have may not be fun, but your mum needs more help now that Fred and George have moved out, so don't complain to her! I'm sure you'll find time to finish them and your homework and still manage to practice Quidditch with Ginny._

_Harry will love the Honeydukes chocolate after another summer of Dudley's diet food. I can't say that I approve of you sending him the twins' new invention for his cousin to find, however. Dare I ask what a Lemon Lollipox does? I've been sending snacks whenever Hedwig comes by. Harry hasn't owled me much either, though. I hope he's all right. It's only a few weeks until we can see him again!_

_My parents are leaving for their dental conference tomorrow morning. Since I won't be able to spend time with them this weekend anyway, I think tomorrow would be the best day to go to our film. One I've been anxious to see starts at seven o'clock. You can Apparate to my house - the lounge, if you will - at six o'clock and we can walk from here. I trust you remember where I live from picking me up last year. I've sent a letter to your mum with Errol (Ginny owled me as well) making sure she can spare you._

_Love from,_

_Hermione_

_P.S. Don't forget to wear Muggle clothes._

Ron stared at the letter for a long time, not even realizing his mum had been calling him until she barged into his room.

"Have you gone completely deaf?" she asked with her hands on her hips. When she took note of what he was holding, however, she dropped the berating tone and smiled. "Oh, is that the letter from Hermione?"

"Er, yeah."

"I've just sent Errol off with a note telling her you'll be there."

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but immediately shut it again. Truthfully, he would enjoy spending time with Hermione, but a Muggle film would be boring; he hadn't thought she would ever make good on her promise. On top of that, he was affronted that she had hoodwinked him by asking his mother for his permission as if he was a child. And his mum going behind his back and making the decision irked him as well.

He wasn't really sure what to say.

"Uh...er...what if I didn't want to go?"

His mum studied him for a moment before guffawing and flippantly waving his question away with her hand. "Nonsense! You've been counting the days until you'll be able to see your friends again."

She had a point. The number eighteen had popped into his head very quickly.

"Besides," his mum continued, while beginning to search through his armoire for some reason, "it would do you well to visit your friends instead of vice versa. I'm sure your father will love to hear about Muggle life, in any case. Aha!"

Ron watched curiously as she pulled out a deep blue collared Muggle shirt that Bill had left in his possession some six years earlier when he moved to Egypt. It was soft, made of some sort of barely shiny material, and although it was musty from sitting in the drawer, it was still nicer than any item of clothing Ron had ever owned. If he remembered correctly, his mum had bought it for his brother when Bill was seeing a Muggle-born girl and went to some fancy party with her. It was one of the only non-maroon shirts Ron owned, but when Bill had given it to him it was about ten sizes too large and therefore had lain forgotten at the bottom of a drawer. Ron didn't have anywhere to wear something like that to, anyway; wizards wore dress robes to formal events.

"Er, Mum, you don't want me to wear that, do you?" he asked as she held the ultramarine shirt up to his chest and stretched the sleeve down his arm.

She wasn't paying him any mind, though. "This will look nice. I might actually have to let the sleeves out a bit. How my little Ronnie has grown!"

Ron pushed the garment away. "Mum, I'm just going to the cinnamon with Hermione. I'll wear a jumper and some Muggle jeans."

"You are going out with a girl," she responded firmly, a bit wistfully. "I'm going to let the sleeves out of this shirt and mend your black trousers. You," she said while poking a finger into his sternum, "are going to clean your shoes, they're filthy."

With an added glare, she was off, leaving Ron frowning in the middle of his garishly orange room. His mum hadn't fussed over his appearance so much since he was nine and had to attend the wedding of some distant Weasley relative. This time, at least, he wasn't going to let her wipe dirt off his face with her saliva!

He grumpily picked up his shoes and magicked the dried mud off them. There were advantages to being of age; they did not include being able to Apparate to Hermione's to see a stupid film.

His mum had been right in that he was looking forward to spending time with one of his best friends, but something was unsettling him and it wasn't the prospect of boredom. Mrs. Weasley's comment about going out with a girl had reminded him of something Hermione had said during a particularly tedious lecture on films: "They're one of the most common Muggle dating activities."

Ron dropped his worn shoes and flung himself backwards onto his bed. He stared at Philip Roundtree, the Cannons' Keeper, as he fumbled a save and then circled the goal hoops on the poster to get back into position. A queasy sensation suddenly swept over Ron's body, as if he had drunk the contents of Neville's cauldron.

Had Hermione asked him out on a date?

* * *

Ron awoke the next morning intensely nervous. He had been up, tossing and turning, for most of the night. A good portion of the time had been spent staring at his battered wall clock, willing the hands to slow down as they zoomed around the dial at a mutinous rate. The other part he had spent with his eyes squeezed shut, determinedly trying to clear his mind so he could get some rest. It was as if he had been the unknowing victim of an Insomnia Charm. 

Actually, he knew very well the source of his anxiety.

For over two years he had been aware of his feelings for Hermione. He hadn't understood what they meant at first, exactly, but they had been undeniable. Every time she walked into his line of vision, his stomach lurched. When she laughed at his jokes, his ears got hot. If she complimented him on some homework mark, he felt an odd swelling of pride.

At the beginning, his mind had come up with any number of ridiculous excuses for his reactions. When he could no longer make himself believe that he was getting a head cold, he convinced himself that Malfoy had poisoned him, and when that had failed, he thought he was quite clever in self-diagnosing hormonal imbalances due to puberty.

The whole incident with the Yule Ball had smacked him upside the head like a Bludger, though. The instant he ripped off mini-Krum's arm, he knew there was no more denying that he desperately fancied Hermione and was keenly jealous of anyone who had a chance with her.

So from that point on, instead of lying to himself, he had tried everything he could think of to get over liking his best friend. He had tried to notice other girls, attempted to find things to turn him off to Hermione (which had backfired immensely), and finally learned to ignore his emotions. Sure, he slipped from time to time, when Krum was mentioned or she kissed him on the cheek or he passed by a display of perfume whilst Christmas shopping, but for the most part he kept his thoughts platonic. This self-conditioning had prevented him from finding anything odd about Hermione asking him to a film. Until his mum's words and his subsequent worrying, he had merely been annoyed with her victory in their unspoken competition.

Now, though, he was driving himself mad with apprehension. He would be alone with Hermione in an unfamiliar Muggle world, dressed up and potentially on a date. The reality of it all was sinking in.

He was _very_ eager to see Hermione and for all the world he wished he wasn't.

* * *

"Ron! It's ten of six! You'll be late!" 

Ron peered at his reflection, mussing his fringe a final time. His hair didn't stick up like Harry's but it did share a similar habit of being unruly. He knew that no amount of wand waving or combing would satisfy him, though, so it would have to do. With one last glance in the mirror, he left the tiny bathroom and ran down the stairs in his trousers and undershirt.

Anyway, he wasn't as concerned with his hair so much as the sickly green tinge of his face. He had barely eaten anything since breakfast, his nerves were so tender. Encounters with escaped convicts and gigantic chess pieces had never given him such an acute sense of trepidation. If Harry ever found out he had been more frightened of Hermione than a Death Eater, he would never live it down.

Ron didn't meet his parents' eyes when he walked into the kitchen, simply grabbed the altered Muggle shirt from his mum's outstretched arms and shrugged his shoulders into it. He had caught his mum staring at him blissfully all day, reminding him of her reaction to Bill and Percy when they became Head Boys, and it wasn't helping his situation. All it managed to do was make him dread coming home to face her interrogation and later disappointment about the events that lay before him.

"Aren't you going to tuck it in?" she said when he had fastened all but the top two buttons of his shirt. It was less a question and more a hopeful demand.

"No, Mum," he mumbled, "I don't want to look like a bigger prat."

Mrs. Weasley tutted and came over to stand in front of him, somehow seeming imposing even though he could clearly see over the top of her head. She patted his collar flat and closed the top buttons, as if he had forgotten them rather than left them open on purpose. When she finished with that, she reached up to cup his face and bring it down so she could plant a kiss on his cheek. He knew she would have hugged him if she hadn't just ironed his shirt.

"You look so handsome, Ronald."

Ron tried to hide his unease when she sniffled and wiped her eye, excusing herself to walk across the room and grab a dishtowel to dab at tears. He hated it when his Mum cried, almost especially when they were tears of joy over something he felt sick about. Even so, he took the opportunity of her distraction to undo the topmost button so he didn't feel quite so suffocated in his shirt.

"I had Bill exchange some money for you at Gringotts," his father said, breaking the silence and walking over to hand Ron paper notes. "Tonks told me how much to get to pay for a film and snacks for two."

Ron was somewhat comforted by the fact that his father sounded nervous as well. "Thanks, Dad." He took the colored paper and stuffed it into his front trouser pocket.

"Quite fascinating stuff, really, Muggle money," his dad said, picking up stride as he moved away from the unexplored topic of Ron going out with a girl and into his familiar realm of Muggle obsession. "They decorate it with pictures of their leaders; ones that are still alive, even! Can you imagine if they had put Fudge's face on Galleons and Sickles? What a right mess they would have on their hands changing it all now!"

"Right mess," Ron answered without much conviction.

"Molly," his dad said suddenly, looking across to where his mum had finally finished crying and was blowing her nose loudly, "are you all right? Ron needs to shove off if they're to make it to that cinnamon show on time."

She simply nodded in response, dropping the dishrag and coming to stand next to her husband. Her face was still a bit red from the emotional outburst, but she was beaming.

"I picked some of the gardenias Hermione likes so much." A flick of her wand had a bouquet that Ron hadn't previously noticed soaring from the table right into his reluctant hands. "A young man should bring a small present on his first date."

"Mum, it's not a -"

"Your father gave me a box of Muggle sticky bandages on our first date." She smiled cheekily up at her husband, who gave no indication that he thought that was an odd gift choice.

Ron wished he could hand the flowers back to his mum and explain that as nice as it might be, he had thought it over and Hermione definitely would never ask him out as anything but friends, but he knew it would be fruitless. "I've really got to get going," he said.

His dad looked back at him, perhaps with a grain of understanding. "All right, son. Make sure to pay attention at the cinnamon. I hear they've come up with a way to pump in the smell of popcorn so that Muggles can't resist buying it!"

"Oh, Arthur, they do no such thing."

"Tonks told me all about it today!"

"See you both in a few hours, I suppose," Ron said exasperatedly, redirecting the conversation.

His parents refocused their attention on him and he was once more uncomfortable with his dad's excited smile and his mum's proud gaze. Before they could say anything else, he pulled his wand from his pocket and Disapparated to Hermione's house.

_To be continued..._


	2. An Armrest

_A/N: Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! Feel free to indulge me more. I am personally fonder of this chapter than the first one, so I hope you enjoy it, as well! _

_Okay, five points to anyone who can name the movie they see, and twenty if you can figure out the one Hermione originally wanted to see (I would never be able to if I wasn't the author). I actually wasted time looking up movies that played in the UK in the summer of 1997, and the candy that's mentioned. I need a life! The part about teeth and Coke is a true story from my boyfriend's childhood, as he, like Hermione, has dentists for parents._

**The Muggle Cinnamon**

By: Mizaya

Chapter Two: An Armrest

Ron opened his eyes to see the inside of a greenish lounge. He hadn't remembered there being quite so much sea green, from sofas to wallpaper to rugs, and was slightly worried that he'd forgotten the location and ended up in the wrong house until he heard a familiar voice.

"My parents redecorated a bit this spring."

Ron spun to face Hermione in the doorway. She looked summery in a pale purple, short-sleeved top and a denim skirt that skimmed her knees. Her bushy hair was held back with silver clips on each side so it didn't overtake her face so much.

"Hi," she said simply, walking across the room until she was some five feet away from him.

A memory of Hermione throwing her arms around Harry's neck when she first saw him at Grimmauld Place surfaced in Ron's mind, and a part of him was bothered by the fact that she'd never hugged him when she hadn't seen him for a while, though his practical side resisted the feeling.

"Erm, hi," he said pathetically. He saw that Hermione was staring someplace lower than his eyes and followed her gaze to the flowers clutched in his hand. "Oh, er, Mum sent these for you."

She stepped forward a bit to accept them. Ron watched as she brought them to her nose and inhaled the heady scent. "They're lovely, Ron. Be sure to thank your mum for me."

"Sure."

"Well, come on. I'll just put these in water and grab a jacket and we can get on our way."

Ron followed her to the kitchen, secretly studying his surroundings while Hermione took a crystal vase from a cabinet and filled it with water. The room was very neat and tidy, like the lounge, but instead of green it was lemon yellow. Everything was new and expensive-looking, and he reckoned that Muggle dentists must make a bit of money. Still, although it was about a hundred times fancier than his house and he felt stiff in the alien environment, it fascinated him.

This was _Hermione'_s house. She grew up here, maybe even climbed up on the worktop to nick cookies – or carrot sticks, more likely - when her mum wasn't looking. Or maybe she sat at that oaken table and read books that weighed more than she did while eating a well-balanced breakfast. The thoughts warmed him, and he couldn't help reveling in it a little. He could just imagine a little Hermione holding very dignified discussions with her dolls about history on the kitchen floor.

"What's that giddy smile for?"

Her voice made him start, and he swallowed the offending expression off his face whilst fumbling for a response. "Nothing. Just, you know, thinking about something funny that, er, happened earlier."

Ron kicked himself mentally for the stupid answer and made a note to not let himself get distracted again, because Hermione was giving him a look as if she knew what he was really thinking, and he didn't need a mirror to tell his face was bright red.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" he asked, confused.

"Well, what was the funny thing that happened earlier?"

He searched his brain and came up with hogwash. "Oh, that. Yeah, see, Ginny was... eating breakfast. You know, erm, eggs? A-And then I said, 'How are your eggs, Ginny?' and she said, er, she said, 'Eggstraordinary.' So there you have it."

At Hermione's raucous giggling he relaxed, thinking his off-the-cuff anecdote wasn't too shabby. She was covering her mouth with her hand and her eyes sparkled.

"Ron, please promise me you'll never become an improvisational comedian."

"A what?"

"Never mind," she said as laughter faded to an amused smirk. Ron stared at her, bewildered, as she motioned for him to follow her and left the room. "We'll be late if we don't start walking."

Ron was thankful that she had changed the subject instead of wheedling out the real cause for his smile. He couldn't believe how much of a git he must have looked like, fumbling for a funny story. Eggstraordinary. Who was he kidding?

After Hermione donned a white cardigan and locked her door, they set off down the street. Ron took in the neighborhood with interest. It was reminiscent of Harry's, from what he had seen, only the houses were larger and not quite so identical. The streets were wider, as well, and although traffic wasn't heavy, many cars drove past as they wended through the suburban twists and turns and approached a crossroads.

"Is it far?" Ron asked, filling the lull in conversation.

"Not too far. Maybe a ten-minute walk. It's nice to arrive a bit early, though, especially on a Friday night, to make sure the film doesn't sell out."

"Oh. So what kind of film are we seeing, anyway? Something educational, I suppose."

Hermione laughed lightly. "No, don't worry, I'm not taking you to a documentary and you won't have to fill three rolls of parchment afterward, describing character development."

"How disappointing."

"Very funny. Actually, I don't know much about it, but I believe it's set in the future. It's supposed to have loads of fighting and humor and action, so I figured you would like that."

They had come upon the intersection and Hermione grabbed his sleeve, indicating they were to wait for something to happen to a weird box attached to a pole.

"I thought you said it was one you had been anxious to see," he said once the picture on the box changed and they stepped into the pathway of white stripes to cross the street. They were now out of the company of large houses, instead surrounded by little shops, most of them closed for the day. Several cafés were bustling, people even sitting at outdoor tables on the warm summer night.

"Well," she said, "there _was_ one based on a famous Muggle book that I wanted to see, but it's about the tragic life of a Russian woman and I fretted that you might find it too feminine and emotional."

Ron snorted consent.

"Before my parents left yesterday, I spoke with my father and he agreed you wouldn't enjoy that film, but he told me that several of his patients, both male and female, recommended this one. I looked it up in the paper and found that they started around the same time, so we're going to the action film."

Silently thanking Mr. Granger, Ron nudged Hermione's arm. "Good choice, Hermione. You know I don't understand that girly rubbish."

He was met with her best McGonagall. "It might do you some good to immerse yourself in 'girly rubbish' once in a while. Perhaps then you'd develop past a toddler's emotional level."

"You shouldn't tease me about my disabilities," he said, nudging her again with his elbow, trying not to laugh. "Besides, why should I put all the effort in when you're always there to do it for me?"

That earned him a playful smack and a devious smile that made him blush again. "You're so difficult."

"You could be easier, yourself."

The moment suddenly went uncomfortable at Ron's unwitting innuendo and he cleared his throat and looked away, noticing in his peripheral vision that she was a bit pink in the face as well, and pointedly staring at her feet.

As quickly as the friendly banter had come, it was lost, and Ron realized too well that he was letting his feelings get the best of him, namely his tongue. He tried to think of something redeeming and neutral to say, but Hermione beat him to it.

"Is that shirt new? I've never seen you wear it before."

Ron self-consciously pulled in his shoulders. The topic may be innocent, but it reminded him of his mum's fussing over his appearance.

"Bill gave it to me before he left for Egypt," he said. "Mum made me wear it. I wanted to just wear a jumper, but she found this old thing somewhere and practically threatened to hex me, so I didn't have a choice."

"Oh."

Expecting more of a response, he chanced a glimpse at her. For some odd reason, she looked disappointed. He had no time to think on this, though, because they had apparently just arrived at their destination. Hermione came to a halt at the end of a short queue and Ron almost walked into her before he realized where they were.

The building didn't appear very large from the outside, and Ron speculated how big the viewing rooms Hermione had once described were. The white, angled awning that jutted out above the building was lighted, although it wasn't even dusk yet, and there were at least three titles that he could see, and probably more on the side of the awning that was angled away from him. The titles and times were written in big red letters and numbers. He wondered what the name of their film was, but was saved from asking when he heard Hermione requesting two tickets from a scrawny teen in a burgundy uniform who stood behind the glass-paneled ticket booth.

As Hermione reached into her small purse, Ron remembered his father's gift and hastened to extract it from his pocket. "Here, Hermione, I've got it."

She smiled and abandoned fussing with the contents of her purse, without the argument he had anticipated. "Thank you, Ron."

Unfortunately, now that he had the money out, he had no idea how much to use. He had missed anything the boy behind the glass might have said about a total. He hesitated, searching through the notes as if the appropriate ones might miraculously jump from his hand to the cashier's, but all they managed to do was gain wrinkles. Hermione must have understood his dilemma, for she took pity on him and removed the correct amount from his handful of notes and gave it to the boy.

With tickets in their hands and some newly acquired change, in the form of Muggle coinage, in his pocket, they entered the building. Ron even remembered to hold the door open for Hermione and was given a heartwarming look of gratitude.

The lobby was rather dim and spacious. In front of them, the room split into two hallways, where ticket-takers stood, also in burgundy uniforms, ripping the ticket stubs of waiting customers. To their left, a long counter boasted food items, including popcorn from a Muggle machine. It was emitting a delicious smell that caused his mouth to water and stomach to grumble; maybe his dad had been right about the trickery bit.

"Would you like to get some popcorn or sweets?" Hermione said. "I can pay for them since you covered the tickets."

Ron shook his head. "No. I mean, yes, let's get some of everything, or whatever this will buy." He thrust his remaining money, coins and all, at Hermione. "But you keep your money. You can just do me a favor and handle counting the right amount."

Surprisingly, she accepted the money and strode across the threadbare, red-tiled carpet to

stand at the end of the queue. Ron followed, wondering how many other things would end up the complete opposite of what he expected.

While they waited for an elderly couple to buy a medium drink and small popcorn, Ron stared through the glass counter at the Muggle confections. He had never heard of any of them. Some sounded rather dodgy, such as "Butterfinger" and "Kinder Eggs." In his opinion, neither butter nor fingers counted as treats, and how eggs could be kind was beyond him. _Apparently they can be eggstraordinary, though,_ an annoying voice in his head chided.

Finally it was their turn, and he listened as Hermione ordered a large popcorn, one small and one medium Coke (whatever that was), and something called Smarties (at which he had to refrain from laughing). Then she looked at him. "What sort of sweets would you like?"

The question caught Ron off guard. He hadn't been thinking too seriously about what he wanted during his study of the Muggle snacks.

"Erm, I'll have a few Chocolate Frogs," he told the cashier, who seemed to be a clone of the boy from the booth.

"Chocolate..._frogs_?"

Ron knew he had made a mistake, not only from the confusion in the boy's voice, but also because Hermione looked frantic. "Er…."

"Chocolate turtles!" Hermione said loudly, her eyebrows lifted to emphasize her cover-up to Ron. "How many times must I tell you they're called _turtles_?"

"Oh-oh right, sorry. Turtles. You haven't got any of those, have you?"

The boy slowly produced three small, silver-wrapped objects from the back of the case and laid them next to the rest of the order, shooting Ron and Hermione wary glances, as if he feared them rabid. "Will that be all?"

"Yes!" Hermione answered, still sounding flustered. She paid for the snacks and gave Ron all the leftover money, now only coins. Then she took half of their purchases and Ron picked up the rest and they carefully wove through the milling crowd, toward a ticket-taking line.

"Honestly, Ron," she said in a hushed, remonstrative voice once they were out of earshot, "Chocolate Frogs? Does this look like Honeydukes to you?"

"I didn't think about it," he hissed. "I'm not really used to Muggle stuff, you know."

"_Shh!_"

"You're overreacting, Hermione. It wasn't as though I said anything about…important stuff."

"No, not this time, but if you slip up asking for sweets, who's to say you won't unthinkingly use your" - she lowered her voice further - "_wand_?"

"Those are completely different things!"

She just glared, unconvinced.

"All right, all right," he conceded. Any other day he would have argued the issue vehemently, but for some reason he couldn't bring himself to. Logically, it was because getting into a screaming row in the middle of a public place about whether or not he could keep his mouth shut in front of Muggles would prove her point, but he wanted the night to have a happier feel as well. "I'll try to watch myself."

"That's all I ask," she said in a dignified tone, her nose in the air. The complacent expression faded, however. "Now let's get decent seats before they're taken."

"Taken?" Ron said, looking at his ticket more closely. "They're not numbered?"

Hermione assumed normal lecturing posture and said, "No, it's first come, first serve. You want seats directly in the middle, not so close it hurts the eyes nor too far to get the full effect of the cinema. And you never want to sit adjacent to others, or right in front or behind them, so that no one has to share armrests with strangers or shift around constantly to see.

It sounded very intricate, and Ron decided as they entered the double doors that he would let her lead.

As it turned out, though, seats were abundant. The dark room, dimly lit with runners along the carpeted aisles and sconces on the tall black walls, was fairly empty. Groups of two or three people sat interspersed about the room, most chatting animatedly amongst themselves.

"I believe this came out last month," she whispered as she motioned for him to accompany her down the aisle way to one of the rows. "Normally it's much more crowded."

Arriving at the middle of the row, Hermione sat down and Ron only hesitated a second before sitting in the seat next to her – he didn't think the non-adjacent seat rule would apply to people you knew. He marveled as she placed her drink into a circular apparatus attached to the back of the seat in front of her. Ron stared at the perspiring drink in his hand, sucked up a tentative mouthful through the straw, then stuck it into the holder in front of him in awe.

"Blimey, what _is_ that?" It felt as though the sharply sweet liquid was dancing down his throat. If butterbeer could instantly make the body feel warm and comforted, this was its polar opposite; he was cooled down and invigorated as soon as it hit his taste buds.

"It's a fizzy drink, a carbonated beverage. The carbonation is what gives it the effervescence," Hermione answered matter-of-factly. "My parents would kill me if they knew I was drinking it."

Ron eyed her askance. "Why's that?"

"It's positively full of sugar, and it dissolves teeth. When I was little and became envious of other children able to drink it, my mum put my first lost tooth in a glass with some and showed me how it was gone the next day."

Mortified, Ron ran his tongue across his teeth to make sure they were still solid. "And they serve it to people? Are they barking?"

"It doesn't work quite that quickly. It's just bad to drink it all the time, or not brush your teeth sometime afterward."

"Hmm," he responded, still unconvinced about the safety of the beverage. It did taste delicious, though, and as he was a glutton for anything overflowing with sucrose, he couldn't help picking up the cup to drink more. "So why are you drinking it if it's so bad for you? You never eat sweets from Hogsmeade."

"I wanted you to try it because I was sure you would like it, and it's part of the whole cinema experience, really. And I do enjoy sweets on occasion. I've certainly tried things at Honeydukes before, even if you don't remember."

"If you say so."

Ron gazed about the room, finally taking the time to notice his surroundings. It was a tall space, certainly nowhere near rivaling the Great Hall, but the vaulted ceiling rose at least ten meters above his head. In front of him, there was a huge red curtain, which hid the screen that Hermione had told him the film was projected onto. He remembered what she had said about film projectors, and turned in his seat to indeed see a man behind glass, in a room near the dark recesses of the ceiling, loading a disk-shaped object into a contraption.

"More interesting than you thought it would be?"

Ron spun back immediately, not yet ready to admit that he found anything about the experience entertaining.

"Wondering when it will start is all. Get it over with faster."

"Ah," she said in a way that told him she didn't believe him. "I think there's a few minutes to go yet."

Deciding that he needed a worthwhile distraction, Ron dropped two of his shiny chocolates into his lap and held up the third, tearing the silver packaging carefully. Inside was a blob with some semblance of limbs and a head. It was a pretty pitiful attempt at a turtle, he thought. He held his hand out flat, the turtle resting on his palm, and peered at it closely.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I got a defective one."

"A defective one?"

Ron squinted at the chocolate. "It hasn't moved at all. I mean, turtles are really slow, but I reckon it should have done something by now."

"Right."

He recognized the amusement in her voice and turned his head, affronted. "What?"

"Ron, they call it a turtle because the pecans in it make it resemble one. The only way you'll get it to move is to put it in your mouth and chew it."

Clearing his throat, Ron hastily tossed the turtle, which was regretfully a bit much for a single bite, into his mouth and began chomping fixedly. It might not have the excitement of a Jumping Charm, but it tasted good enough.

"Take two bites next time," Hermione said, her repulsion at his overly stuffed mouth blatant.

"Idbedderizay," he said, making Hermione's nose wrinkle in disgust.

"Ugh, that's so rude, Ron. I know your mother taught you better than to talk with your mouth full."

Ron swallowed and washed down the chocolate with a sip of Coke. "I said it's better this way." He unwrapped another chocolate and treated it in the same manner as the first to demonstrate. "Ee?"

"Yes, unfortunately I _do_ see," she answered priggishly.

Ron managed to smile at her, his cheeks packed like a squirrel's, straining under the effort, and continued chewing.

Hermione rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and offered Ron the popcorn bucket to hold. As soon as his turtle was swallowed, he began digging in, and just in time, because the curtains were slowly parting to expose the white screen.

"Excellent!" he said

Hermione looked at him in quizzical approval, but merely took a handful of popcorn from the bucket and settled in to watch. Ron brushed some buttery kernels from his knee and did the same.

Flickering lights danced on the screen until the picture centered and focused. The lights dimmed and blasts of noise shot out from all around the walls at the emergence of a logo emblazoned with the cinema name. After that, there were several strange ads for popcorn, fizzy drinks, and Muggle items Ron had never seen.

"What's that?" he asked Hermione when something called Motorola was advertised with blaring music and flashy colors.

"A mobile phone."

"That's the barmiest fellytone I've ever seen."

"_Telephone_, Ron"

And a few minutes later, when they made a big deal over a card that could apparently do all sorts of ludicrous things for your life:

"What's so special about that?"

"Visa, it's a credit card."

"What's a –"

"It's a way of buying something and actually paying for it later, like having an open account at a shop, only you can use it anywhere."

Then it moved on to previews for other movies. Ron kept turning to Hermione, saying things such as "That's so unrealistic" and "Only Muggles would think magic works like that." He inwardly allowed himself to be interested in several, although he maintained a straight face for posterity. That was simply how he and Hermione worked; neither admitted defeat until the argument had run its course and both achieved maximum irritation at stubbornness.

When the previews gave way to a black screen with names of Muggle companies and people, Ron could sense the atmosphere had changed. "So is it starting then?"

He was promptly answered with a "Shut up!" from a man sitting two rows in front of them. The man had turned around to give Ron a somewhat menacing sneer, and Ron would have returned it if he hadn't felt Hermione's hand on his shoulder and lost his train of thought.

Hermione leaned very close, dangerously close, so close he smelled her hair and felt her breath, and whispered into his ear, "Yes, but you're not supposed to talk during the picture. If you have questions I'll answer them after it's over."

It took a minute for Ron to register her words and nod. He was grateful that the room was so dark, as his face was alarmingly hot, especially his ears, where her breath had tickled him. He could still feel it traveling down his neck, phantomlike, and he tried to pay extra close attention to what was happening in the film, knowing he wasn't doing a very good job.

Falling into their normal routine of bickering and playfulness had made him forget that he had been anxious since the night before about this foreign activity. The conversations about wands and Coke and chocolate had placed him in the comfortable zone of their friendship. Now the sick feeling was back with a vengeance, and he began to wonder if Hermione was wrong about those turtles; they seemed to be holding a wild party in his stomach.

Ron shoved the popcorn bucket back at Hermione, both because it was making him feel ill to look at it and because the indirect pressure on his leg from her hand reaching into it was driving him mad.

His situation got even worse when the first ten minutes of the film touted a barely-clothed woman.

In the magical world, one just plain didn't see such things. Sure, he knew what girls looked like, from pictures in magazines that the twins had lifted from Charlie when they were younger and shown to Ron to see how red they could make his face, but this was different. He was thankful Fred and George weren't here now, because he knew his face was about five times redder than it had ever been, and it wasn't from seeing the woman. It was from seeing the woman while Hermione sat right next to him, apparently unaffected. Ron didn't think teenaged boys should have to experience that caliber of torture.

The worst seemed to be over, though. The naked woman was soon forgotten, replaced by a fascinating plot and fight scenes and humor. Ron and Hermione shared a delighted look over the flying cars, which Ron knew about firsthand, and an appalled look at the introduction of a character even more outrageous than Rita Skeeter, Lockhart, and Luna Lovegood.

But then something strange happened.

Just as the singer in the film launched into her melodic crescendo, Ron saw two arms shoot up in front of him. The man who had turned around earlier was performing a rather flamboyant yawn, and Ron watched as he lowered his arms, his left one going back to his side. The right one, however, had landed across the shoulders of the girl sitting next to him. Ron would have thought it was a mistake, but the girl turned and smiled, and the man smiled back. It had been planned, a sneaky way to make physical contact on what must be a first outing together.

His curiosity piqued, Ron covertly looked over to another couple, around the age of his parents, who were sitting in the next row up, much farther to the right. As he watched, they shared a short peck on the lips. Ron then turned his gaze to the left, careful to avoid drawing Hermione's attention, and looked at a couple who was sitting in their row, all the way down at the end. He stared hard, trying to figure out why they didn't seem to be sitting properly in their seats...

Ron's head snapped back to the screen so fast he knew he had startled Hermione; he could feel her eyes on him, and he wished she would look away, so as not to see the mortification etched on his face.

The couple to the left was kissing, nay, _snogging_, so enthusiastically that he knew his mum would have marched over and grabbed both of them by the ears and given them the rebuke of a lifetime, whether they were strangers or not. He was certain he had seen hands in places decent wizards didn't talk about in public.

Even though Ron was scandalized and fairly intimidated by what he was seeing around him, it made him hypersensitive to the girl at his side. That randy, seventeen year-old imagination of his was on overdrive, and his eyes kept drifting down to her slender arm, balanced on the armrest between them, as if by magnetic force. Things were going on in the film, important, plot-driving things, but he couldn't concentrate. That arm was the closest part of her body, and it called his attention like a beacon, begging to be touched. If he could just find a way to slide his elbow onto the armrest and feel it….

For several agonizing minutes, Ron contemplated Hermione's arm, her possible reaction to him touching it with his, and the fact that he was lost as to the current action in the film. At last he clenched his jaw, hopefully to add to his shaky resolve, and slid his arm next to hers.

As soon as he made contact, she had yanked her arm away. Ron looked at her before his mind could tell him not to, retracting his arm at the same time.

"Sorry," he muttered, and offered her an apologetic smile before returning to the screen.

In the next instant, he felt a tug at his arm, drawing it back to the armrest. And then Hermione's resettled as well, in front of his but still touching, just the barest amount.

He hadn't looked at her during the exchange; he was barely holding back a triumphant, ecstatic grin with his eyes on the film. That spot of forearm, along with his left shoulder and a small bit of his right cheek, were now the most sacred parts of his entire body. Hermione had touched those places, not in a mundane way, but in a way that really meant something to him.

The rest of the film passed by in a blur of bad guys and last-minute saves. Ron didn't care so much what was happening, although he did follow along and enjoy the remainder of the film, even managing not to blush when the main characters had an inappropriate snogging session of their own. His attention was mostly focused on Hermione, though. Thrilled jolts shot through him whenever she moved to bring snacks to her mouth, thus causing friction at the point their bodies touched. Ron made sure to pick up his coke frequently, and use both hands to drink it so he could move his arm against hers. He even savored his last chocolate turtle in three bites, pivoting at the elbow to bring it to his mouth each time, loving the way he could feel her warmth and cursing the cotton barrier of his shirt. Several heart-pounding times, Hermione leaned close to share her Smarties, which turned out to be coated chocolates, and Ron noticed she kept her elbow flush with his in handing them off, even though it couldn't have been a comfortable angle. He would have liked to believe that she didn't move her arm because she wanted to remain touching him, but an insecure voice told him it was just because she didn't want him taking the opportunity to hog the armrest, or maybe because she didn't want him to feel as though he kicked her off again. But he ignored the voice, and decided for once to savor it while it lasted.

Unfortunately, it was over too soon. He knew once the screen went black again, and the names of Muggles began scrolling up it, that his ephemeral paradise was over. The yawn-maneuver man and his date stood to leave, and the older couple to the right was making their way up the aisle already. Even the lewd pair to the left of Hermione was finishing their snog.

"Well, we should head back to my house, I suppose."

Ron cried out internally when her arm left his touch and she collected her purse, the rest of her Smarties, the popcorn bucket, and her drink.

"S'pose so," he said, attempting to mask resignation. He collected his things, as well. "I reckon the Muggle cinnamon isn't as bad as I made it out to be."

Hermione grinned at his confession and all but bounced out of her seat. "I knew it! I knew you'd like it!"

He was used to seeing her self-righteous when she proved him wrong, or at the very best indignant. She rarely went for all out jubilation. "Yeah, yeah, you win." His voice was full of mock reluctance, as he couldn't quite make it convincing while returning her happy smile. The loss of her closeness was regretful, but sharing a good-natured argument was a bearable replacement.

As Ron and Hermione left the cinema, they discussed the film, laughing and comparing and speculating.

_To be continued..._


	3. A Video

_A/N: I want to first apologize for taking so long on this chapter! RL, laziness, and a lot of writer's block has been preventing me from setting aside time to put the energy I wanted into this chapter, but I've finally finished and I'm really happy with it. Thank you all for taking the time to review, even if it was only to guess the names of the movies (_The Fifth Element_ and _Anna Karenina).

_Also, thank you very much to **kjcp** for beta-reading this for me! It would have had quite a few distracting errors and awkward sentences if she hadn't been kind enough to do me that favor!  
_

_Now you may move on from my rambling to the final chapter. I wanted to mention that the sequence of events mentioned in this movie are all accurate, because I'm sure you figured out by now that I'm a glutton for research. (And no points if you guess the name of it ) Enjoy!_

**The Muggle Cinnamon**

By: Mizaya

Chapter Three: A Video

The walk back to Hermione's house started simply enough, with both Ron and Hermione still discussing the film. When Ron had commented on the grotesque death of the villain for the third time, however, they fell into silence and the magic of the cinema faded away, leaving Ron in much the same position he had been in earlier: self-conscious and confused.

Night had descended while they were indoors. The cafés were quieter, the outdoor tables empty. Ron knew he was at the end of his evening, and wild flights of fancy made him almost ask if Hermione knew of something else for the two of them to do. He was thinking unrealistically, spurred by the ambiguous act of touching elbows because they had to share an armrest. He had to get back to his well-maintained blocking of any romantic thoughts about Hermione.

But he couldn't help glancing at her hand, which swung gracefully at her side, and wondering what she would do if he clasped it.

The thought didn't leave him as they silently walked back across the white-lined street into the rows of houses. The thick summer air felt lazy and serene, belying the fact that the hidden world around these Muggles was on the brink of war. Indeed, Ron couldn't even find the strength to worry about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when he was strolling through Hermione's neighborhood on a Friday night, analyzing the sport of hand-holding.

It couldn't be much different than touching elbows, he thought. It was just a bit lower down the arm, really. Of course, there wouldn't be the excuse of needing to share the armrest, so that posed a problem. Perhaps if he avoided eye contact he wouldn't have to say anything about it at all, he could just keep ambling along as if nothing was amiss. Though if she asked him what he thought he was doing, he would be done for. He could tell her that his hand was cold... except that it was quite warm out and he _did_ have pockets in his trousers. Maybe he could say he saw a spider and got scared. That didn't do much for a bloke's ego, though.

In the end, his inner dialogue went on too long. Just as he decided to get in one solid hand-holding before his night was over, Hermione was steering him up the pathway to her house. Ron shrugged at the lost opportunity and waited for her to unlock the door and let them inside.

"Reckon I should head home now," he said in a hopefully casual manner, trying to veil his yearning to stay with her. His voice sounded too loud in the echoing foyer, and he realized just how quiet their walk home had been.

Hermione met his gaze for a moment before breaking eye contact to set her purse and cardigan on the small entryway table. "Do you have to go right away?" Her words were rushed, but she looked back up at him pleadingly. "If your mum wants you home at a certain time, that's fine, but it would be lovely if you could stay for a bit. I don't particularly like being alone in the house and I'm sure I could find something for us to do."

Ron felt a pang of..._ something,_ and he found himself fighting back a grin. "Sure, Hermione, I'll stay."

At his words, she smiled back in such a genuine way, lips rosy and eyes dancing, that Ron couldn't help observing her as beautiful, and it was an added perk that she looked as excited as he felt.

"I'm so glad!"

Ron scratched his head awkwardly, unnerved by her jubilance. "So, er, what is it you want to do?" he said, peering around as if expecting an activity to suddenly jump out of the shadows. He couldn't imagine what sorts of things Muggles did for entertainment. Without Wizard Chess and Quidditch, really what could be entertaining?

Hermione apparently shared his train of thought. "I'm afraid there isn't much to do at my house. Aside from reading, the only things we do for fun are play Parcheesi and watch films in the sitting room."

Ron goggled at her. "You have one of those screens in your house? Why didn't we just stay here?"

"No, Ron," said Hermione in her know-it-all tone. It was amazing how quickly her manner could change. "We have a television and a machine that plays videos, which are-"

"Videos?"

Hermione glared at his interruption. "Yes, so one can watch older films on a much smaller screen in one's house. Televisions can also be used to watch-"

"I know what tellies are," Ron interrupted again. "So what videos do you have, then?"

"You really want to watch another film?" She sounded surprised but not displeased.

"It's better than reading or playing with cheese."

"_Cheese?_ Wherever did you get that idea?"

"You just said you and your parents like to read or play with cheese," Ron answered slowly and deliberately, as though he was speaking to a child.

For the second time that evening, Hermione giggled uncontrollably.

Ron watched, perplexed. "You're the one who said it! Don't take this the wrong way or anything, Hermione, but I'm beginning to think Muggles are all barking."

Hermione shook her head through her giggles. "Parcheesi! It's a board game, like chess, only the pieces are inanimate and there's much less strategy involved."

"That's because you can't use strategy when you're playing with cheese!"

"No, no, Parcheesi is an Indian word meaning 'twenty five,' and there is no cheese involved, just game pieces and a board."

"Well, cheese or no cheese, it sounds barmy," said Ron, frowning at his countless blunders. "What videos have you got? Are there any with fighting?"

Hermione smiled with less mirth and more sincerity. "I'm not entirely sure, but I rather doubt it. Let's have a look."

She grabbed his hand and began leading him from the foyer back past the lounge. Ron wanted to laugh at how easily she had made the contact, when he had spent almost the entire walk home worrying about her reaction to something so minor and seemingly normal. His hand was a bit clammy, and the haphazard way she had seized it made the hold uneven, but Ron felt it was great anyway.

The foyer narrowed into a hallway beyond the staircase, branching off toward the kitchen on one side. Now they were walking past that, down a hall decorated with photographs of Hermione at various ages. Ron noticed that she looked quite the same as a child, only with even larger hair and eyes and much smaller baby teeth. He decided she had been adorable, and he was a little disappointed when he was led into a side room, away from the captivating face in the stationary Muggle pictures.

Hermione let go of Ron's hand to turn on a lamp in what turned out to be a small, cozy sitting room, decorated in warm burgundy and dark wood. It reminded Ron of a miniature version of the Gryffindor common room, complete with a fireplace and singed hearthrug. The beige settee looked worn and comfortable, and it faced a television that was set into a shelf that was otherwise filled with books and rectangular boxes. These boxes appeared to be the videos Hermione spoke of, because she stopped in front of them and skimmed her finger along their spines as she scanned the titles.

"We don't have any with much fighting. My parents aren't too keen on violence or indecency in the entertainment industry, I daresay."

Ron had no idea what she was talking about, but he instinctively responded with a "yeah" while he read the titles. A familiar word in one of them attracted his attention, and he pointed it out. "What's this about a wizard?"

Hermione plucked the video from the shelf. "Oh, _The Wizard of Oz!_" She looked quite elated. "I think this is an excellent choice, actually. It's terribly famous, a classic. I loved the music as a child."

"Music?" said Ron doubtfully.

"Yes, there was often singing in films made during the earlier years. It's not awful," she assured at his wary look. "You'll probably find it very amusing."

Taking the box from Hermione's hands, Ron examined the picture on the front. The girl and her dog didn't look too interesting, but the woman with green skin might be a hag, and there looked to be some goblins, even if no goblin would ever be caught dead in those clothes.

"All right, this one looks fine," Ron said in noncommittal acceptance. He handed Hermione the video, turned, and walked around the coffee table to sit on the two-seat settee, waiting for Hermione to start the show for them.

After she fiddled with the television and some contraptions he couldn't conceive to guess the name or use of, she pivoted to face him. "Would you like to get some snacks before we watch?"

Ron's stomach twisted at the thought of food – he'd barely eaten anything that day - and then grumbled loudly enough for Hermione to hear. "Sure," he said with a sheepish smile.

Hermione tutted and grabbed his hand again, this time to pull him from the settee and lead him back through the hallway to the kitchen, which seemed to glow in yellowness now that Hermione had to turn the overhead lights on to see by. Their hands remained distractedly locked together as they stood there.

"I'm not sure what sort of things we might have that you would like. My parents aren't much for cooking, and our snacks are all sugar-free."

"Er, I s'pose whatever you want," said Ron, not knowing what Muggles kept in their houses whether they were dentists or candy makers.

"We could have more popcorn," Hermione suggested.

"You have one of those Muggle machines?" Ron asked in awe. He quickly looked around the room, not detecting anything remarkable except Crookshanks sleeping on one of the kitchen chairs. "Where is it?"

He was answered with tutting yet another time. "No, we have some pre-made." She released his hand so she could walk over to a cupboard and pull down a clear plastic bag full of popcorn. "It's not as good as at the cinema, but it will do. Now, what would you like to drink?"

Ron turned, watching her walk to a tall cupboard with a heavy white door. Light poured from the inside when she opened it.

"Milk? Water? We don't have juice, and I told you before that my parents are opposed to fizzy drinks."

A thought struck Ron at her words, and he reached up to rub his teeth with his forefinger. He had forgotten what she had said about dissolving until that moment. "I don't know, Hermione," he said anxiously. "Maybe I should go home."

Hermione let the cupboard door swing closed. "But why? You said you wanted to stay. It's barely nine o'clock!"

"I know, but I forgot about my teeth. I think they're starting to melt!"

Hermione chuckled.

"It's not funny!" He was getting frantic. "They feel weird!"

Ron started digging in his pocket for his wand, so he could Apparate home, but Hermione's words slowed his movements.

"I promise your teeth won't dissolve in the next two hours."

"But-"

"Here, come with me."

Hermione set the bag of popcorn on the worktop and led Ron from the room. This time, instead of pulling him, she placed her hand on the middle of his back and pushed him into the one room off the hallway that he hadn't yet seen. It was a bathroom.

Ron stood to the side so Hermione could bend down and rummage through the storage cupboard under the washbasin. She arose holding one red and one orange toothbrush. The latter was proffered to him.

"There, your favorite color," Hermione informed him, and then she opened the mirror to reveal another storage space, from which she extracted a white tube. It turned out to be toothpaste, and she squeezed some onto each brush.

"Erm," began Ron, nonplussed, "whose toothbrush is this?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ron, what do my parents do for a living?"

"Completely mad things like drill holes in teeth?"

"No," she sighed, "they care for Muggles' teeth."

"So this is one of their patient's toothbrushes?" He held the offending object a bit farther from his face and cringed at it. "That's pretty disgusting, Hermione!"

"Ron! My parents give out perfectly new and clean toothbrushes to their patients, and they also bring them home in case we have guests, such as you, who need them."

"Oh, right."

Hermione rolled her eyes again, a bit unnecessary in Ron's opinion, and began to brush. Ron followed suit. Aside from the fact that his toothbrush at home had self-moving bristles and his toothpaste was Fizzing Whizbee flavored, he concluded that oral hygiene was the same for both Muggles and wizards.

They mutely scrubbed circles across their molars, Ron trying to dribble less toothpaste down his chin than he typically would. It felt strange to be standing in a bathroom with Hermione, though, at least without Harry and the Polyjuice Potion as company, but Hermione didn't stay long. She raised one finger in an indication for Ron to wait and then left, still busily brushing. By the time she returned, Ron had already spit out his toothpaste and gargled under the tap. Hermione did the same, daintily drying her mouth on a towel when she was done. Ron had wiped his on his sleeve, and now he regretted it, because he knew his mum would flay him alive when she saw the whitish residue of the paste on his nice shirt.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah, I feel loads better," Ron said as they set the toothbrushes on the washbasin ledge and walked back to the sitting room. He was going to inquire about where she had gone off to while they'd brushed their teeth, but he saw the bag of popcorn and two water glasses on the coffee table and figured out that she had been retrieving them from the kitchen.

Ron sat back in his seat and waited for Hermione to fiddle with the Muggle contraptions again. He idly wondered how close she would sit to him; the settee was small, but not so small she couldn't sit farther away from him than she had at the cinema. Ron scooted subtly to his left - closer to the middle - to aid in his plan to continue where they had left off earlier. There was no armrest to facilitate laying his elbow next to hers, but hopefully they could somehow fall back into that exhilarating world of unfamiliar closeness. Or perhaps he had imagined it all and for Hermione it hadn't earned a passing consideration.

Thankfully, Hermione sat near the middle of the settee as well, her legs a mere three inches from Ron's. He and Hermione might not be touching, but they were closer than they had been at the cinema.

"It should start any moment now," Hermione said, indicating toward the screen, and Ron realized that he had been staring at her.

"Oh, er, okay." Embarrassed at being caught staring, he tried to segue into picking up his water to take a drink. It could have been a smooth transition if he hadn't inhaled at the same time and choked.

Hermione patted Ron's back several times while he coughed. "Here," she said, pushing his glass at him, "sip some."

Ron did as he was told, his coughs subsiding, and then set his glass back on the table. No, smooth definitely wasn't the word for it. At least this time the pink on his face could be passed off as a side effect of choking.

In the next second, thunderous music and roaring filled the room and Ron nearly jumped out of his seat. "Bloody hell!"

"Oh dear," Hermione exclaimed. "It's a bit loud. I'm sorry."

Ron looked up at the television and saw that there was a picture of a lion on the screen. "It just startled me, is all," he mumbled. He wondered if his night could get any more humiliating.

"No, I'll fix it." Hermione leaned forward and picked up one of the smaller black gadgets on the coffee table, which she toyed with until the volume was reduced. When she resettled in her seat, the film began.

It seemed barmy to Ron straight off.

"There's no color, Hermione."

"Yes, I know. All films used to be black and white."

"The Muggle world was black and white?"

"No, the films were. The world was the same."

"Then why is there no color?"

"Maybe there will be," she said cryptically.

"What do you mean, maybe there will be? I thought you'd seen this loads of times."

"I have."

"Then why-"

"Just watch the film! You're missing it!"

"There's not much to miss, is there?" Ron retorted. "All I can see are chickens, and I can see them anytime."

"Oh, be quiet!"

Despite the banter, he was savoring the proximity to Hermione. Whenever she leaned forward to grab her water, he smelled the soft fragrance of her hair. And the popcorn, which they had rested between them to share, offered a chance to bump into her hand, clumsy as it made him appear.

The film, however, was the source of quite a few misgivings. There had yet to be any aliens or fighting. They were still watching a black and white scene on an old farm, with a song about rainbows, no less! The crux of the plot seemed to rest on the wellbeing of a dog so small that one of Fang's paws would dwarf it. Ron mostly kept his mouth shut, telling himself that it was a compromise for getting to pay more attention to his now solid plan to increase the indefinable level of intimacy between him and Hermione, but he couldn't restrain himself forever.

"Hermione, I get enough of Trelawney's rubbish at school without having to sit through it here!"

"What?" Hermione removed her hand from the popcorn bag and turned to face him.

"Is this whole film about lemon drops and angry neighbors and fraudulent fortune tellers?"

"Would I make you watch something like that?" Hermione asked in a scandalized tone.

Ron glared at her.

"Well, I'll have you know that this film is about none of those things. If you would just be patient, I'm sure you'd be pleasantly surprised – oh, look! There's a terrible tornado now. That's got to be worth something, right?"

Interested in spite of himself, Ron admired the cyclone on the screen and sat back to watch. He did remember to give Hermione a scowl for good measure, though. The storm didn't last long enough for his taste, but the girl and the house flew around in the air, which wasn't quite as thrilling as the flying cars of the other film but made this one a bit more tolerable.

"Hey, it's in color now!" he said when the girl exited the house into a freakishly vibrant town.

"I told you there may be color."

"Yeah, well," said Ron, not about to let Hermione have the best of it, "it's still barmy."

Several minutes later, when high-pitched midgets were singing and dancing all over the place, Ron was reduced to hearty laughter. He went so far as to hunch over his knees and clutch his sides to stop a stitch from forming, he was laughing so hard.

"You have got to be taking the mickey, Hermione! You can't possibly like this!" he said when he could sit upright again.

Hermione crossed her arms and huffed, "I liked it very much when I was a child and I consider it a classic, even if _some people_ are too thick to understand it."

"Understand it? It's a bunch of Flitwick's ugly cousins in wigs, dressed up worse than Lockhart on Halloween! What is there to understand?"

Instead of responding to his inflammatory question, Hermione surged forward and stabbed at a button on her Muggle device with her finger. The television went black and the room was enveloped in silence.

"Fine," she said, not in the furious tone he had expected; to Ron's chagrin, she sounded as though she was on the verge of tears. "If it's that bad, I'll end your suffering and you can Apparate home. Go on!"

Ron immediately felt a knot in the pit of his stomach that would dwarf any stitch. He hadn't meant to cut his night short; he'd just been poking fun as he normally did. He'd anticipated lectures and biting comments, but what he was faced with was a Hermione who was visibly blinking back tears of anger and quite evident hurt.

"That's not what I m-"

Hermione plowed right over him. "I'm sorry to have spoiled your evening. Please remember to thank your mum for the gardenias." She stood up. "I'll see you at Grimmauld Place with Harry."

"Hermione, sit down!" Ron surprised himself with the forcefulness of his words and the effect they had on Hermione, who sank back down onto the settee. "I've had a really good time tonight." She started to protest, but he spoke over her. "I have. Even though I'll be able to see you in a few weeks, it's been nice to spend time together in a place that's not so dreary." He took a deep breath. "I've missed you. And Harry," he added hastily, deciding that his newfound courage for candor only stretched so far. "I wish he could have been here too, but, well…. Anyway, I'd like to stay and finish the film."

Hermione had looked him in the eyes the whole time, her increasing blush giving him the ability to speak his mind in a way he wasn't at all accustomed to. Now she looked down at her lap.

"But you hate the film."

Honestly, she wasn't far from the truth, but at that point, Ron would have sat through a film about Professor Binns's daily routine to keep the evening going. He had a bizarre inkling that there was something stirring between them, something he had to pin down or else it would be sucked beneath the surface again. Two years of suppressed romantic feelings were wreaking their revenge.

"It's not that I _hate_ it, it's just that it's – er – odd. You have to admit, the rainbow goblins are funny."

Hermione didn't look up, but Ron caught a glimpse of a smile. "Munchkins. And they _are_ a _bit_ funny."

"Right, and the singing's not my cup of tea. But I reckon it would be all right to travel around in a bubble like that northern witch. I dunno if there's a charm for that, but I bet you could find it in a book or work out how to do it yourself." She shook her head modestly at his compliment. "And Fred and George would pay ten Galleons to know what that witch from the west got into that turned her skin green." That earned a chortle, even though Ron knew that Hermione took a stance not unlike his mum's on Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"So can we finish watching now? I won't say anything else bad about it."

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

It took Ron a second to understand she was being sarcastic. "Okay, I'll try really hard, then."

Hermione sighed. "Fair enough."

She leaned forward again to restart the film and then settled back in to watch, noticeably closer to Ron. He didn't mind.

After the uproar he'd caused, Ron worked diligently to keep his mouth shut. The amount of singing was downright ludicrous, and the plot wasn't improving, but he interjected mild praise whenever he could, hoping to soothe Hermione.

"It would be wicked to have a talking scarecrow. Dad hates putting Anti-Roosting Charms around the fields."

Hermione smiled at that, although she didn't turn her head from the television.

He commented on the look of the green city as well. "I think Muggles should do that. Grey buildings are a bit boring."

"It would be pretty, wouldn't it?" Hermione mused, this time turning to face him so he received the full warmth of her smile.

Several minutes later, something entirely unexpected happened. Ron was uninterestedly watching the characters collect apples from the ground when Hermione suddenly grabbed his upper arm with both hands and buried her face between it and the settee.

Ron was completely shocked. For one thing, he had no idea what had evoked this strange behavior, and for another, it was blatantly and abruptly more significant than touching elbows.

"Is it over yet?" Hermione asked, her voice muffled by the fabric of Ron's shirt.

Ron looked down at the top of her head, his mind buzzing all over the place and refusing to settle on any one thought. "Erm, huh?"

"Is it over yet?"

"But… I thought you liked this film?"

"The trees!"

Trees? Ron scanned the room dumbly for trees. He spotted some at last, on the screen. Trees, right. They were speaking and throwing apples at the girl. "Erm…."

Hermione's grip on his arm tightened. "Are the trees gone yet?"

"Er – no?"

"I was scared of them as a child!" Hermione said. "Tell me when they're gone!"

The pieces finally clicked in Ron's mind. Hermione was clutching his arm and pressing her face into it because the trees frightened her. He frowned. Compared to the Forbidden Forest, trees throwing fruit were friendly. Then he realized that he couldn't see them anymore. "They're gone," he said, but when Hermione relinquished her place against him, he wished he hadn't.

"Why?" he asked, half paying attention to a singing suit of armor with a very pathetic battle axe.

"Why what?" Hermione said, a bit too primly to be believable. Ron looked at her and saw that her cheeks were very rosy and she was unnecessarily flattening her skirt, a sure sign of avoidance when it came to Hermione.

"Why were you so scared of them?" He was genuinely interested. Hermione was never apt to show fear, especially not when it was irrational, as this surely was.

"No particular reason. They just alarmed me is all."

"Well then why are you still scared of them?" Ron didn't particularly mind the fear, or rather the results of it, but he was curious.

Brushing her hair behind her ears, Hermione glanced at him and said, "A leftover reaction, I reckon. Bit silly, isn't it?"

Ron smiled and tilted the popcorn bag toward her in offering. "No," he said, thinking of his own fear of spiders and the event that fear stemmed from, "I get it."

Hermione returned the smile and took a few kernels from the bag before they both resumed watching.

Ron hoped the next scenes would have more scary parts, as he really had enjoyed having Hermione up against him, but unfortunately all he was given was a lion weird-looking and cowardly enough to insult Godric Gryffindor and some flowers that reminded him of the Dozing Daisies from sixth year Herbology. There were some worthwhile things, though.

"Her broomstick's slower than my old Shooting Star," he said at one point.

"I'm afraid Muggles don't know much about the varieties of broomsticks, although I think hers seems to suit her purpose."

"If her purpose is to race butterflies," Ron snorted. "It _is_ cool how she can write words in smoke. I wonder if they sell anything like that at Quality Quidditch Supply?"

And later, when the wizard finally entered the picture, Ron said he would definitely be in Slytherin and Hermione laughed.

Ron was beginning to fret that it was the end of the film, signifying his lack of progress with Hermione and his cue to go home. But he was wrong. The wizard did something fantastic; he sent the girl and her companions on a quest to steal the old ugly witch's broom. Not only would Ron get to continue his time with Hermione, it sounded like the chances were good there would be another section of the film that would frighten Hermione into seeking his protection.

The moment arrived soon, and Ron was prepared for it. Some ridiculous flying monkeys came to attack, and Hermoine's face was right back into his arm. This time she squeezed harder and made no noise. Ron patted the top of her hair a couple times, as it seemed to be the only thing he could think to do. He wanted to say something reassuring, even though he knew Hermione wasn't deeply terrified of some monkeys that had spooked her as a child. He finally decided on saying, "They remind me of some people we know, really."

"Who's that? Hermione asked, her lips moving against his sleeve and her breath warming his skin.

"The Inquisitorial Squad."

Hermione lifted her head to look at the television. Ron was regretful that his comment had lost him her nearness until she giggled and laid her cheek back on his shoulder to watch.

"That makes sense," she said, "because the wicked witch could be Snape's sister and Umbridge's best friend."

Ron's eyebrows shot up. He'd heard her insult Umbridge worse than that on many occasions, but she usually defended Snape emphatically. When it sank in, he began to laugh with her, sliding down in his seat while he did, so that his head was more level with hers. Some of her bushy hair tickled his chin, not that Ron minded.

Hermione didn't leave when the monkeys were gone. In fact, the only move she made was pulling her legs up beside her on the settee, causing her to lean more heavily into him. Afraid that any reaction would trigger her to leave his side, Ron stayed stock still.

After ten minutes of emulating a statue, however, Ron badly wanted to move, for several reasons. The film hadn't grown any more enjoyable in plot – though the dog's escape from the evil witch was somewhat impressive – and he was getting restless, and Hermione had spent the time, not still, but periodically shifting against his side. If Ron had to guess, he would say she was getting closer and closer. He wanted to respond in kind.

Waiting for the right moment, Ron casually reached over and tapped Hermione's bare knee with his knuckle. "That trick with the guards reminds me of when Harry and I went 'round as Crabbe and Goyle."

"Yes, and I went around as Millicent Bulstrode's cat," Hermione said. Even though she sounded bitter, her leg plainly nudged his hand, which he had left nearby after his tapping. Now her knee and his little finger were just barely touching.

The next part of the film showed the girl and her friends getting trapped by the witch. Ron thought it might be something that would have scared Hermione as a child, so he repositioned his hand to rest completely on the cool skin of her knee, attempting to comfort her. He realized afterward that she hadn't dug her face into his arm in fear as she had done previously, but she did rearrange her grip on his arm so it was firmer and fuller. His move had been noted and countered, and now it was his turn again, or at least he told himself that was the case.

It felt a bit like playing chess; he was strategizing his next move and trying to predict his opponent's. Except that he didn't want to defeat Hermione and chess usually didn't make him nervous. And when he played, he always knew that his opponent was playing the game with him. Ron changed his mind – it wasn't like chess at all.

Even so, he continued with his plan. He began lightly stroking his thumb over the top of Hermione's knee, at the same time making a comment about the film. "It doesn't look as if they'll get away," he said mildly, his focus on Hermione.

He was delighted when Hermione returned the gesture, her fingers playing on his arm. "It does seem rather hopeless. You'll just have to wait and see."

Ron had no intention of paying attention to the film; he wanted to do something bolder concerning Hermione - perhaps reposition his arm entirely and put it around her shoulders like that smarmy man at the cinema.

He was about to do so when the accursed film distracted him too much to ignore.

"Wait, you mean all they would have had to do the whole time was toss some water at her?" he asked, outraged, watching the evil witch melt into an unsatisfactory puddle.

"Well, yes, but-"

"She could have poured a glass of water on her and been done with it as soon as she arrived!"

"They didn't know that," Hermione protested, her ministrations on his arm stopping, her grip slackening.

"Whoever heard of a witch that couldn't get wet anyway? How does she bathe? Can she drink anything?" Instead of stroking her knee now, he was thrumming his fingers on it angrily.

"That's not really the point of the film, Ronald."

"I don't think there _is_ a point," Ron muttered.

The instant he said it, Hermione let go of his arm, though her cheek remained flush with it.

Ron inwardly panicked, worried that he had taken a huge leap backward by getting so incensed about the ruddy film. He even said, "Sorry," in what he thought was a sincere way, eager to regain his footing with her, but Hermione's hands stayed motionless.

Desperately, Ron continued softly skimming his thumb across her skin, hoping she would respond. He sat all through the return to the wizard and the revealing of him as a charlatan in this fashion, with no reaction from Hermione.

By the time the wizard had flown off in a balloon and the girl had used some red shoes (obviously some sort of Portkey) to get home, Ron had ceased his efforts and left his hand still. The film was black and white again, and he knew it was ending. Her companions from the world of color turned out to be the farmhands, and the girl had apparently just suffered a blow to the head and a dream.

"That makes more sense now," Ron said as normally as he could to Hermione, though she didn't answer. He hated it when she refused to speak to him, even more so when he didn't think he'd done anything too out of line.

The screen went black and the room went dim and Ron knew his little fantasy evening was over at last, ending in a much different way than he had wished for. He'd missed his chance for whatever it was could have happened, if in fact he hadn't been deluding himself the whole time. Taking a deep breath, he readied himself to stand up and leave this strange, tumultuous night behind him.

But Hermione wasn't moving.

Ron looked back up at the television, confirming that there wasn't more to the film, then down at Hermione. Though her hands were settled squarely on her lap, she still leaned into him. He wondered if she'd fallen asleep, but he couldn't angle his head far enough forward to see her face.

"Hermione?" he said quietly, exerting a bit of pressure on her leg.

"Hmm?"

"Oh. Just wondering if you were awake."

Hermione sighed. "Sorry, I guess I'm just too tired to move."

She began to stir at his side, but Ron said, "It's okay," and she resettled. He was just happy that she hadn't sounded cross with him. Maybe she had nodded off at the end of the film, and that was why she hadn't responded. "I'm a bit tired to move, myself," he lied.

A minute of silence passed, in which Ron silently debated with himself about what to say or do. Finally, he resumed his feather-light stroking of her knee. With her lying on his arm as she was, there wasn't much else he could do with his hand.

This time, Hermione reached up to encircle his arm with her hands again. "Thank you for coming to visit, and for staying to watch this with me, even if you despised it."

"It wasn't so bad. In fact, I rather liked it," Ron said, not referring to the film they'd just watched.

Hermione tilted her head up to look Ron in the eyes, the closeness of her face entrancing him. "Liar," she said with a grin. He couldn't remember ever seeing her lips that close-up before.

"Er, I-I liked the first one," he stammered.

Shaking her bushy head and sending wisps of hair at Ron's nose, Hermione tilted her head back down. "I don't really want this night to be over." Her voicing what he felt stunned him. "You're right, Grimmauld Place is dreary, and with everything that's bound to happen..."

"I know," said Ron. It was the only thing he could think to say.

They were silent another minute before she spoke up again. "Ron, why did your mum make you wear that shirt, and send flowers and enough money to pay for us both at the cinema?"

Ron's face heated. "Erm-"

"Did she think I asked you out on a date?"

"I...er..." Now his face felt like a furnace. He paused on her knee. "No. I don't know," he said apprehensively.

Hermione didn't answer right away, but she reached down with her nearest hand and closed her fingers over Ron's on her leg. The empty popcorn bag crinkled between them. "I don't know, either. If it's a date, I mean."

Ron noticed his palms getting sweatier as he answered, "Oh."

"Is it?" Hermione asked softly. Her voice sounded close, and Ron swiveled his head to see her looking up at him again.

"Erm." He felt as though he was in the middle of a nosedive on his Cleensweep. He thought back on everything that they'd done that day, everything he'd experienced. It definitely wasn't a regular old day with Hermione. He didn't put his hand on Hermione's leg, apologize to her, or sit through hours of boredom for her on a regular basis, although something told him he wouldn't mind any of those things. Not much. "I..." He swallowed. "I reckon it might be."

Flushing a pretty pink, Hermione flicked her eyes from his to his lips and back. "Me too," she said earnestly.

Ron twisted his hand underneath hers, so he could capture it, and bravely stretched his neck the couple remaining inches to press his mouth to hers. He knew immediately that it was what he had been building up to all night, and for the past two years. It felt right, like it was the natural progression of things. It also felt soft and warm and comforting, in a way he had always dreamed Hermione would be.

When Ron pulled away, it was only to wait for her smile before beginning again.

Hermione's free hand eventually worked its way to Ron's neck, his to her waist, while their entwined fingers brushed against each other on her leg. The position was awkward, and his neck was sore, but he kept kissing her until he ran out of breath.

Breaking the kiss undid their clasped hands. Hermione nestled closer and slipped her arm around his chest, and Ron embraced her as well. It felt perfect to Ron, the nearness and touching normal now that he'd jumped the hurdle of kissing. He was content to feel her chin on his shoulder and her eyelashes on his cheek.

"I'm really glad you didn't leave when you thought your teeth felt odd," Hermione said through a yawn.

"They did feel odd!" he insisted through his own yawn. "And I'm glad I didn't leave when you told me to."

Both of them chuckled at that. Then Hermione yawned again.

Ron hated to end the best night of his life, but they needed to before they both fell asleep on the settee. The idea was promising, but thinking of his mum Apparating to Hermione's house to see if he was in mortal peril and finding them huddled together was scary enough that he said, "Hey, I think I should get home and you should get to bed."

Hermione nodded and lifted her arm from his chest. "I know. I'm very tired, and it's late." She yawned a third time.

"Yeah, I think my mum might murder me if I'm out past midnight, even if I was on a date like she wanted." He shrugged shyly when Hermione shot him a questioning look. "She was right, after all."

Hermione smiled. "She's a very clever woman."

"I can't seem to get away from those," Ron said in mock exasperation.

Clicking her tongue disapprovingly, Hermione stood up and pulled him to his feet. "Come on, let's get you home before your mum calls me a scarlet woman for entertaining boys at inappropriate hours."

Ron smiled at her quip, though he wouldn't put it past his mum to have guidelines about that sort of thing. He followed Hermione, or rather was dragged by her, to the foyer, where she went up on tiptoe to hug him and give him a fleeting kiss. "I'm not sure why I took you to the foyer," she said, "seeing as you aren't leaving through the door, but it seems right, anyway."

Ron caught her around the back before she stepped away from him and kissed her again. "Be careful. Remember to lock all the doors. I'll send Pig by in the morning so you can owl me if you need to. Or you could just Apparate to the Burrow tomorrow and not be alone," he suggested.

"We'll see," Hermione said with a smile. "Good night, Ron."

"Night." Ron retrieved his wand and began to wave it before suddenly stopping. "Hermione?" he said.

"Yes?" Even with her eyes tired, her hair coming messily out of her silver clips, and her clothes wrinkled from use, she looked radiant.

"Let's go to the Muggle cinnamon again sometime."

As he completed the wand flick, he heard Hermione say, "Cine_ma_, Ron!"

_The End_

_ A/N: Thank you for reading! All reviews are highly appreciated!  
_


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